Feast of Starlight
by AnadoraBlack
Summary: Tauriel has no longer the will to live. She has lost everything: her love, her home, her status. She wishes to end it all, but a family of four will not allow her to leave Middle-Earth just yet... [Bard/Tauriel] fix-fic; rated M for triggers.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello everyone! I am back with a story that was long in the making. I don't know why but I've always felt the appeal of a Bard/Tauriel pairing, and I needed to exorcise some of my demons via the Elleth. Expect a story that will be pretty dark at first, and progressively lighter. Tauriel is in a very bad place when we start off._

* * *

 **Warning: This story might trigger you for the following reasons: suicide-attempt; self-harm; depression. If you are raw on any of these subjects, please avoid this story.**

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Feast of starlight**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

* * *

It hurt. Everything hurt and nothing was alright.

If that was what love made someone feel, then Tauriel wanted none of it. Not the pain, not the searing burning hole in her chest where her affection had once been, not the memory of Kíli's young face when he closed his eyes for the last time.

The Elleth fell to her knees on the soft grass, angry tears falling free from her eyes as she tried to find a hold of something – anything, within her grasp. She decided to claw at her forest-green tunic, almost ripping it off her slender body as the ripples of her first love's death overtook her once more.

It had been almost a week since the Battle, the one they now called Battle of the Five Armies. Back there, near the Mountain, not one soul had forgotten what they had seen and been through, but none really understood her pain, and that's why she had left the humans to their rebuilding, and the Dwarves to their brooding.

She vividly remembered that day, when after Bolg drove his blade into Kíli's chest – she shuddered again under the force of her grief – her King Thranduil had found her. What he had told her in lieu of comfort.

" _It hurts because it was real_ " he had said. Crushing her once again with the sheer power of what emotions could do to an individual.

Maybe Thranduil had said it because he was compassionate, because it reminded him of his own wife's passing. But maybe he had just been willing to end her with his words, knowing the pain she'd feel would simply be unbearable.

She had not returned to the Greenwood after that. She could not. She knew that Legolas would not be there, and even then, the presence of her oldest friend would not have soothed any pain. He would not understand. He had never loved anyone like she had loved the Dwarven prince. And he didn't like Kíli anyway.

She could not return to Dale either, though. Everything there reminded her of Ravenhill, of Kíli's cries when Bolg threw her into the side of the cliff; of a jagged sword going through her love's chest as if it had been leaf bread.

She screamed and clawed at her chest once again, tears continuing their deathly path down her cheeks and onto the grass beneath her. Maybe something good would come of this. Maybe her tears would sate some plant or other, and a flower, symbol of her heartbreak, would thrive for a while.

Tauriel could not even find solace in that little thought.

Her green eyes fell onto the sight below her. Sometime during the past week her erratic thoughts had brought her to the shores of the Lake, where once upon a time, Kíli had given her a stone, a token of his affection, a token he'd be given back to make sure he'd be safe.

Another scream echoed in the empty place.

Esgaroth's ruins were still scattered on the pebbled beach: wooden beams; cloth; food; but also rotting bodies, left there by hurrying folk.

It was a sight of desolation and it was good that way.

Tauriel stood from the grass. She did not straighten her tunic, not caring if it was wrinkled or if it rose above her knees. She wiped angrily at her cheeks to try and give herself some strength.

"I'll soon be there, my love," she whispered to the wind, hoping that it'd carry her words to Kíli's soul, wherever it was.

And she stepped into the water.

It was freezing, the dead of winter not quite having left the air, and she hissed under this new pain, dulling her broken heart for a second. She advanced in the water until it reached her shoulders, and she sighed in relief.

She'll soon be reunited with her prince, and the pain would be gone.

* * *

Bard and his son were chatting away, smiling and laughing under whatever joke the young boy had just told his Da. They were both sat on the bench of the carriage, and from time to time, the older man bumped into his son's shoulders playfully.

Bard was King of Dale in anything but name by then. His people had elected him as their leader, and against all odds, he had agreed to the task.

But he had also refused to be crowned before Dale was rebuilt and thriving once again.

By then, he and his three children were living in a modest house in the centre of town, near Duke Girion's old home – now being repaired – and each of them was helping in any way they could. Sigrid was helping the healers with those many injured during the Battle; Tilda was helping the seamstresses sow curtains and blankets and clothes; and Bain helped his father with the building itself.

Except supplies were coming in rare, and before trade could be reinstated with other kingdoms and such, Dale's inhabitants had to be clever. That's when Bain thought of the Lake and its shores.

" _There's still a lot of stuff that we left behind there! Maybe some of it can be useful!_ "

Bard had ruffled his son's hair with pride. His kids were all intelligent, kind and selfless, but he sometimes was still surprised and proud to see to which extent they were.

So both had departed from Dale at dawn, taking a horse and a carriage in hope to bring as many useful materials as they could. Their people needed it, and they would make sure they got it.

"Da, what's that?" Bain asked when they came in view of the Lake. There was something in the grass, something that would probably be dangerous for a horse or a carriage to walk or roll over.

"It's a quiver," Bard answered in a whisper. He stopped the carriage and jumped off, picking up the brown leather and eyeing its marking with awe. "It belongs to an Elf, I'm sure of it."

"But Da, why would an Elf leave their quiver in the grass?" Bain asked, and both started looking around frantically in search of the arrows' owner.

Bard then felt something akin to dread fill his veins. He remembered a slender figure ghosting around town after the Battle, not seeing anything or anyone around them, their paleness and red-trimmed eyes leaving little for imagination. They were grieving.

So he started looking for any ripples in the Lake that would tell-tale that someone had gone into the freezing water in search of release from this world.

He turned to his son, wishing to warn him, wanting to shield him from some horrors of the world still, but Bain had suddenly jumped off the cart as well and was running towards the Lake.

"Bain!" he called, going after his boy. He hoped he had not seen one of the many bodies littering the beach.

But instead, Bain reached the water, and called to his Da. "It's her, it's Tauriel!" He entered the lake without any shadow of doubt, and Bard felt something else fill his veins by then.

 _Tauriel._

The Elleth who had saved his children, who had returned them to him. Who he could not thank.

He needed to save her.

"Bain, wait! I'll help!" he called once more, and he entered the water as well to help his son drag the floating body to shore.

She was pale as death, but a faint heartbeat still echoed against her skin.

And Tauriel did not get the release she hoped for.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Here is the second chapter. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

 **Warning: there are still mentions of self-harm, suicide and overall deep depression in here. Tread carefully.**

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

* * *

How it would have been bliss to have faded.

How it would have been wonderful to have ceased to exist.

Unfortunately for Tauriel, she did neither.

She had breathed in the death-imbued waters of the Lake until she closed her eyes and stopped feeling, content that she had somehow managed to end her own pathetic existence.

And yet, mere moments later, she found herself couching Death away from her body, limbs and muscles cold, too cold.

Had Death rejected her, refused her sacrifice? Had it refused to see her reunited with her gentle Kilí? Would she be cursed to an endless existence, unable to fade, unable to die, unable to forget the warmth that had once spread through her heart?

Tauriel's vision was blurry, the green of her eyes veiled, but she could see the blue of the sky and, somehow, a moving dark spot that had the shape of a head. She discerned the brown of the hair, and against her best wishes, she uttered "Kilí" in such a weak voice she doubted he'd hear her.

"She needs warming up. Help me get her into the cart, quick!"

Tauriel frowned. This was most definitely _not_ her beloved's voice. Even as she numbly felt herself being lifted by two pairs of arms, she couldn't quite grasp the reality.

She had been saved. Someone had dragged her out of the water and had forced her to breathe again. They had surely placed their lips upon her own, and it made her moan in pain. How _dare_ they? How _dare_ they erase the touch of her One from her skin?

"No!" she screamed even though her thrashing was weak. "Let me be! I don't want to…I don't-" And even though she longed to go back to the water and the peace and finality it offered, she felt herself drift, exhaustion taking over.

But she did not go without hearing a young, strangely familiar voice, say "Rest. You're safe with us."

* * *

"Will she be alright?"

Bard placed his hand on his youngest's shoulder, just as he regarded the Elleth who lay on his bed and who Sigrid was wrapping in warm blankets.

Her skin was pale, almost like a ghost, and her white lips exhaled a thin and ragged breath far less often than he would have liked. He was scared, too, because he had a nagging feeling that he knew what the woman had tried to do, and the feeling, coupled to the knowledge that his son and him had robbed her of that, made him almost sick to his stomach.

He didn't answer Tilda, and when she and Bain left the room to prepare their meal, Bard exchanged a meaningful look with his eldest.

"Da, what is she doing here?" The implied morbid act hung in the air, thickening it in an almost palpable way.

"She saved you. I guess I am repaying her in kind."

He could not forget the debt he owed her, that was sure, but he had had the same debt towards Óin and Bofur, and neither Dwarf was currently being nursed in his home.

"I doubt you can save someone who does not want to live," Sigrid answered in an acrid tone.

He kept staring at Tauriel, and something of another king settled in his stomach. Why would she wish to end her own existence? Elves were optimistic folk – or so he had experienced – and it couldn't have been the sights of the Battle. They were too used to it, the Elves, with their centuries-old experience. Hell, even his own children were healing well from the traumatic events!

But then, he understood, and remembered. The Dwarf. The Prince. On the beach that day. He had not watched on, too bent on finding his children and protecting them, but maybe, just maybe…

She had lost someone she loved. Her other half.

He remembered also the gut-wrenching pain he had felt when his wife passed away. The unfulfilled desire to join her in the afterlife.

Bard watched his guest draw each painful breath she took, and thought that he'd do anything he could to show Tauriel that this life was worth living. That she could move on.

But he intimately knew that it'd be hard, and that it'd take long…

* * *

It was painful to breathe. It was painful to move.

Come to think of it, it was painful to live.

When Tauriel came to the first time, it was night-time. The room was in – for she could feel the comfortable mattress she'd been put on – was pitch black safe for the natural light entering from the window.

She could see them, facing her, taunting her. The stars. Their light, no longer warm as she once thought, but cold and mocking, just like Kilí had seen them what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The former warrior was burning with fever, she could feel it. Her entire body felt periodically scorching hot and freezing cold, and her head felt so heavy…

She also could feel the tears wetting her cheeks and the feathery pillow she had been placed on. She knew why they were falling. She hurt everywhere: her body, her heart, her soul. She did not regret her actions. She did not regret going into the Lake. She regretted the fact that she was still alive.

A burning anger rose in her then. Whoever had taken her from her death had had no right to do so. They had wronged her in the worst way possible.

"I am sorry."

Tauriel's eyes snapped towards the voice. A Man was standing by the door. Tall, his features hidden by the night. But she was of sylvan blood, and she could see his long untamed brown hair and the stubble on his cheeks. She knew him, she was sure of it.

"Why did you take me here?" she demanded in a hoarse voice. The Man didn't flinch, as if he had expected her wrath.

"You saved my children," he said simply, but Tauriel could hear that there was something underlying in his words. She knew then who he was.

The three younglings that she and the Dwarves had steered out of a burning city. The two sisters clinging to her while they feared for their father's and brother's fate. The young girl, barely reaching the height of her hip, hugging her tight on the beach that had seen both desolation and salvation.

"You are Bard. The humans' king."

He did not deny, just said "Try to rest" before he left her to her gloomy thoughts.

And strangely enough, after his visit and after gaining the knowledge of where she was and who had taken her in, Tauriel did just that: rest.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hello people! Thanks to all those who have put alerts on this story already! I know it's not a happy one, but it makes ME happy to know that some are actually enjoying it enough to read the rest of it. :)_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 **Warning:** this chapter might trigger you if you experienced self-harm, considered suicide or lived through intense grief.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3**_

* * *

 _It was going to ask for a lot of patience_ , Bard thought just as he watched Sigrid try to make Tauriel eat some broth. The Elleth refused to let the spoon past her lips, stubbornly and childishly shaking her head every time she did so. Sigrid was trying her best, using all the techniques she had mastered while helping him raise Tilda, but none prevailed.

At one point, the young woman stood and sighed. "Now it's all cold. I hope you do eat later." She placed her hand gently on Tauriel's shoulder and joined her father in the doorway.

They stared at their somewhat patient for a while longer, and then she kissed his cheek. "Go. Percy will need help at the Gate. I'll look after her."

He silently nodded and went back downstairs where Bain was waiting for him to start the day.

Bard really had no clue how they were going to help Tauriel with her depressive thoughts, but one name kept popping in his mind as a potential help: Legolas. The Elven Prince had proven he held strong feelings for his companion when they fought during the Battle.

But he did not know where Legolas was, and even then, going to Greenwood to discuss someone Thranduil had tried to kill seemed like suicide to him.

All in all, it looked like one day of repairs would do his pondering some good.

And he was right in his assumption, for at the Gate, he unexpectedly met with several known faces, one of which was the hatted Dwarf, Bofur.

"Hey laddie, what 'yer up ter eh?" He was merry as always, which was a stark contrast with how Bard himself felt. But Bofur had always been cheery, at least since their re-meeting on that ghastly day.

"Rebuilding, Master Dwarf! What about yourself?"

There was a glint in the steely eyes before he answered "Why I'm 'elpin' 'course! You Long Legs cannot lift anythin' for life o' ye!"

Bain, who was very fond of the Mountain dwellers, laughed. Bard didn't. He was not really in the mood for Bofur's jokes.

Unfortunately, it showed, for not long after they had secured a large boulder over the Gate, the Dwarf, accompanied by another member of the Company that had, once upon a time, invaded his home, came to sit by him and his son.

Hard work did not appear hard at all for Dwarves, at least not after a whole morning of heavy lifting. But they still seemed extremely content with the pint of ale they were offered.

"So, why the gloomy face?"

Bard looked up when he realised that it had been the unknown Dwarf who had spoken. There was something strange nagging at the back of his mind regarding his appearance. Black grey-streaked hair and beard, long cat-like dark eyes and an ugly scar on his forehead that looked out of place.

"Your axe is gone!" exclaimed Bain then, and the Dwarf laughed.

"Aye, and it seems your father's forgotten me for it!" He had the phrasing of someone who was undoubtedly clever and gentlemanly, and Bard then knew what was wrong.

"I am merely surprised to hear you speak Westron, Bifur."

"Ah, there it is! So when I was an old crazy bat, I was worth remembering, but no more, is that it?" Anyone who did not know them or their history would have thought him angry, but Bard could see the twinkle in his dark eyes, and it was full of good humour.

"Let's say that you were rather easier to single out then." He smiled a little, thinking that it was easy being a notch happier when having these little troublemakers around.

 _Maybe they'd cheer Tauriel up_ , he thought.

* * *

Said Tauriel had been in a foul mood ever since the previous night. She was still enraged at Bard and his family for saving her, and even more enraged at herself for not being able to scold the little one when she came to hug her and read her a story she'd found on one of her father's shelves.

To be honest, Tilda had irremediably stirred something inside of her, a need to protect her that the Elleth had never had before.

But the gaping ache in her chest only felt worse as little Tilda told her a story of battles and fairies and creatures that no longer existed.

The sister, Sigrid if memory served correctly, had noticed it and called back the little one under the pretence of needing help for lunch.

Tauriel had saved those girls. From Orcs, then from dragon-fire. And because of it, she now was trapped in a world without meaning for a while longer.

Sigrid didn't fail in anything: she wasn't brought cutlery at noon, couldn't find anything sharp to harm herself with. The eldest seemed to have had experience in the matter of self-harm. Tauriel didn't care to ask.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that she found some sort of answer. Tilda's book. Paper. Razor sharp edges. It'd take some work and it'd be ugly, but she could bleed out before Sigrid even noticed.

For a second, holding a page over her wrist that was already burning and seeping blood, Tauriel felt guilty to leave the two girls in charge of her corpse. What would the young one dream of after having seen her dead?

But the pain of living was even stronger than the guilt of dying, and Tauriel opened her veins further…

* * *

"Da! Da! DA!"

Bard whirled around, wiping at his sweaty forehead, and a shiver of dread ran down his spine as he saw Tilda run towards him, her teddy bear cradled to her chest as she cried. "Tilda? What's wrong, is it your sister?" He was already searching for Bain in the crowd of workers, and when he saw him, he readied himself to call.

"No, it's Tauriel!" He stopped, wondering what their charge could have been doing. He trusted Sigrid implicitly, knowing her experience with him when their mother had passed had left her more mature than anyone else in the house, including him.

"What happened?"

"She's bleeding! Her arms! Come, please!" His child, his innocent and sweet child, was tugging at his sleeve and he only could follow, knowing already what he'd see in his home.

How could she have opened her veins like that, when she was alone with two children?

He was angrier than ever, and also sad. Sad because she had felt the need to end her life once again. And once again he'd deny it to her.

On their way they crossed path with Bifur and Bard explained in little words why he had to leave. The Dwarf's dark eyes widened but he nodded and went to his cousin to relay the information. Bard wondered what they'd do with it, considering Bofur had been in the Elleth's proximity for quite a while.

But he had no time to really ponder. Tilda tugged him through crowded streets and when finally they reached the small house that was theirs for the moment, something ominous dropped in his stomach.

He turned to his youngest, lips pursed and eyes wide. "Tilda, go and find Óin. He should be in the old palace." She nodded, the gravity in her face telling him she perhaps understood more than she should. The old Dwarf was the only good healer he knew, and he thanked whatever god there could have been on this Earth that he had been living in Dale ever since the Battle, helping the humans mend their bodies as well as their walls.

Sigrid wore an apron that was far too bloody to his liking when he burst into the kitchen. She was tearing some cloth into bandages, her eyes red and puffy, and on instinct, he went to embrace her. She tore into sobs and clutched at her father, and Bard knew then, that Tauriel had done more damage than she knew.

"How is she?"

"I…I s-stopped the bl-bleeding b-but she is s-still unc-unconscious," Sigrid stuttered. He nodded and kissed the crown of her head before hurrying upstairs.

The floor of the bedroom was soaked with the red of blood, Sigrid having wiped at it but not managing to erase all its ugliness. He stared at the floor for a long moment, and despite his tough exterior, he felt as if he was back in his wife's room when Tilda had been born. The blood there also had been present, too much for comfort, and there too it had soaked into the wood for years to come, taunting him with the consequences of its presence. Sigrid had placed a mat over it, but Bard had been able to remember the stain ever since.

Tauriel was still, far too still, on the bed. Her already pale skin was even paler, almost as if you could see the veins through it. She was barely breathing, her chest barely moving. Sigrid had wrapped her wrists in bandages as tight as she could, but he could see them already getting stained and he sighed as he approached her still form.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered, somehow finding the strength and will to brush a strand of hair off her forehead. "Life isn't that bad, you know…"

He heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned, sighing in relief when he saw Óin's grey head appear in the doorway. Surprisingly enough, though, he was followed by Bifur, Bofur and another Dwarf who Bard faintly remembered as having been Thorin Oakenshield's closest companion.

The old healer went to Tauriel at once, tutting when he took in her appearance. He turned to Bard, dark eyes narrowed. "She is not fighting. But I'll do my best. Now shoo with ya!"

Bard bowed the head in thanks and lead the Dwarves back down, where he found Sigrid, Tilda, Bain and yet another Dwarf preparing tea.

Bofur gestured to the heavy-looking Mountain-dweller. "T'is me brother, Bombur. He'll probably trash yer pantry, but 'ere goes."

"We all wanted to come. The lass is…well, somehow we owe her." The older Dwarf whose name he did not remember seemed weary, and when he added "For Kíli," Bard nodded his understanding.

Tauriel, for better or for worse, had made herself a group of protectors.

Maybe that'll be enough to convince her to stay alive…

* * *

 _A/N2: I will address here a critic that will no doubt arise after reading this chapter._ **Warning again for those of us who lived through that** _: yes, it is possible to open your veins using paper cuts. The skin on the inside of the wrist is tender enough. I know what I'm talking about, I unfortunately did it myself._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hello everyone and thank you for those who have discreetly put alerts on this! You'll be happy to hear that this chapter marks the beginning of Tauriel's mend. It'll be long and not without doubts, but at least she feels better now. :)_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4**_

* * *

Tauriel was aching. Not only her arms, no, but _everywhere_. She felt heavy, heavier than ever, which was probably quite a problem for an Elf. She could feel the fire in her forearms, and knew what it was. She also knew what it _meant_.

Her heart ached more than anything else when she realised that, once again, she had been denied her death. Something deep growled in her chest. _Why?_ Why couldn't she just _die_?

It took her several long moments of self-loathing and of trying to convince herself that she was really dying, before Tauriel fully came to.

She tried opening her eyes, but her eyelids were extremely heavy, and that too took her some time. She groaned, and her keen ears caught the sound of some rustling nearby. She was not alone in the room.

Her green eyes finally opened, and she caught sight of the bedroom she had been spending time in since Bard's family had taken over her destiny. She groaned again, her body hurting in ways it hadn't been since _that_ day. Since Bolg had thrown her against the cliff.

She let out a whimper of pain when the memory flooded her mind. She could see it so clearly. The look in Kíli's eyes when he saw her, nearly broken, on the cold stony ground. The look in his eyes when Bolg held him up and-

"Tauriel, calm down."

The voice was deep, and calm. But there was a hint of something else in it. Anger?

Tauriel turned to look at the person who had invaded her life, and was not surprised to see Bard standing there. She took a moment to stare at him while her breath evened. He was tall, with long dark hair that he barely held back with a leather bound. His grey eyes were almost teary, though not quite, and his thin lips were pursed.

She did not utter a word, just stared on.

So this was the Man who had once again robbed her of her release. Why? Why?

"Why?"

Her eyes widened when she noticed she had said it out loud, but the human did not comment on it. He merely sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Life isn't that bad, you know. I didn't think you'd be leaving it knowing all the facts."

There was something else, always something else. Elves were beings of truth. They scarcely lied, and when they did, it was for good reason. But Bard the Human was omitting something and it made Tauriel uneasy.

She said nothing.

Maybe he believed what he had said. Maybe he believed that she hadn't seen enough of the world to want to stay. But she was six hundred years old. She had seen much more than he thought. She was a warrior, too, or had been, once upon a time. She had seen death. She had seen grief. She had seen sorrow. And she wanted none of it.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, anger barely hidden in his tone.

Her green eyes met his grey once more. "What do you mean?" Her voice was weak, and she hated it, for she felt like there was a fight brewing between them.

"You tried to take your own life. Again." He paused, and she realised this was not his question. He knew why she had wanted to die. "But why did you do it in my home? With my children in attendance?" He was seething now, so much so that Tauriel thought he'd struck her.

She was reminded of the stories her King Thranduil always told her in her younger years. Of the brutality of the sons of Men. That they'd lash out every time they were angry. She believed him. Right then, she believed that the newly-appointed King of Dale would harm her.

Strangely enough, it didn't scare her.

But he was still waiting for an answer, and she didn't know what to tell him.

Sigrid had tended to her the way a mother would her child. Bain had come to tell her of his day each evening since she had first woken up. And Tilda…Tilda had been the sweetest girl there was.

"I don't know…" she murmured, but he seemingly heard her.

"Well, I think you ought to apologize to my daughters. They are strong, stronger than even I am aware of, but they were in distress that day. And I don't want to see that ever again, is that understood?"

His voice had taken on a more authoritarian tone, and Tauriel thought that any other day she'd have told that human off for giving her orders. She was his better, he had no right to treat her in such a way.

Except…well, except the tangy smell of her own blood still lingered in the room, and except Tauriel could see the rug that had been placed at the foot of the bed. She knew what it covered, and the guilt she had started to feel a few seconds prior intensified.

"I am sorry, Bard the Bowman."

Their eyes met again. His softened at her words and his mouth twitched in the smallest of smiles. He turned to leave, but told her that he'd "send Sigrid up with some food" before he effectively closed the door behind himself.

Tauriel painfully fell back onto the pillows, and wept.

* * *

Apologizing to Bard's children wasn't as hard as it had been with their father, Tauriel found.

When Sigrid came up with some bread and vegetables, the Elleth took the opportunity to encompass the younger woman's hands in hers, and to tell her how sorry she was to have broken her trust. Sigrid had merely smiled and said that "[her] trust had not been broken, but she had been saddened all the same." It moved Tauriel much more than it should have.

Bain and Tilda did a double-bundle when they came to greet her later on. The young boy looked several years older than he had the last time she had seen him, and she regretted her actions even more. But his youngest sister was quick in pushing a smile on both their faces when she hurled herself at Tauriel and hugged her fiercely, telling her that she wasn't angry for the book. She'd buy another one.

The former Captain of Greenwood was surprised at these infants' maturity and kindness, something she had long thought to be lacking in the children of Men. But ever since she had met this family in Esgaroth – her heart panged again at the memory – they had shown nothing but goodness, utter and honest goodness.

Guilt was omnipresent since she had woken up that morning.

It shifted into some more excruciating pain when a new arrival made itself known and she recognized the old Dwarf who had, once, helped her heal Kíli.

He had the same intricate hair-do that he had had at the time, though he was dressed in a simpler fashion. He carried with him a satchel filled with what she discovered to be medical supplies; and his nose was upturned in discontent.

Tauriel did not remember his name, so it was in silence that he approached her and roughly took one of her arms to remove the bandages. She thought of calling out in pain at the assault, but she deserved it and said nothing.

"What were ye thinkin', child?" he tutted as he inspected the small scars that littered her forearm. Tauriel saw them, and hated them immediately. Dark eyes met her own and she thought of flinching in shame. "No man is worth this, She-Elf. Not even a Prince!" The lilt in his voice, his accent, did not help the tears that suddenly flowed down Tauriel's cheeks. He saw them and sighed, before turning back to his satchel.

Logically, she thought he was going to take his supplies and carry on with his care as if nothing had occurred, but he surprised her by producing a handkerchief that he handed her with a look of grief in his eyes.

Tauriel bowed the head to accept the piece of cloth, and dabbed at her wet eyes with it. The Dwarf sighed again and when he touched her arm again, it was with much softer hands. "We all miss 'em." His voice was tinted with pain, and she met his gaze again.

For a moment, there was nothing but understanding passing between the two of them. And then Tauriel put the handkerchief to the side and placed her wounded arm closer to him with a small thanking smile. He smiled back and started placing some sort of cream on her scars to make sure they wouldn't reopen.

They did not utter another word that day.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: And there we go for another chapter folks! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5**_

* * *

Bard was content. At least, as content as anyone could be given the consequences.

There was an Elf living in his house. With his children and him. A female Elf who had loved a Dwarven Prince and who had tried several times to end her own life to be with him again.

And yet, ever since that book incident, Tauriel had improved slightly. He could still see the pain and grief in her eyes when something reminded her of her lost love, but she had not attempted to her own life ever since that day, for which he was grateful.

One day she had appeared in the kitchen, helped down the stairs by Sigrid. She had sat at the table and listened to Bain's retelling of their day of rebuilding. She had had that soft look on her face that had made him smile, although he wasn't sure why.

She did not talk much. She listened, she watched, she observed, but she didn't talk. Except with Óin.

Surprisingly enough, she had apparently taken a shine to the old healer, as he spent an hour almost every day talking to her in the small sitting-room Tauriel liked to spend time in. Bard had not seen that coming, but one day, Bifur made it all clearer.

It was another of those days when he and his son were paired with Bofur and his cousin. That day, they were working on one of the old watch-towers, one that had crumbled under the dragon's weight so many years prior to Bard's own birth.

Bifur, whose wisdom was most surprising, addressed the matter of the Elleth as they assessed the strength of the foundations they had been building.

"How's the lass?" he asked, hands pushing his thick mass of black and grey hair off his face.

Bard shook his head. "She is better, I'd say. She still remains weak, and stays indoors, but at least she is walking some and helping the kids with cooking. Well, she did that once." And he remembered his surprise when he had seen her kneading the bread dough under Sigrid's watchful eye.

"Is she talking?" Bifur's dark eyes were knowing, and Bard couldn't help but appreciate his intuition.

"Not to me. She talks to Bain, although not much. She sometimes talks to Tilda too. She talks more to Óin."

"Ah, yes, he made mention of that. He likes her, I think." The phrase was followed with a chuckle. It was understandable: Dwarves and Elves had always despised each other. "She reminds him of his girl."

That Bard had not seen coming. His grey eyes widened, and he couldn't help but ask "Óin has a daughter?"

"He did," Bifur nodded without a hint of grief in his voice. It always struck Bard how much easier feelings were for the Mountain dwellers. They seemed to feel everything tenfold, but for less time than human beings. To grieve fiercely, to anger easily, to love passionately; but it all faded quickly. "He had a wife in the Blue Mountains. Keara, she was called. Their daughter Meera was the prettiest thing you'd ever see." Bifur chuckled. "Dwarflings are a rarity, as you know. We cherished her as she needed to be. But she grew sad, and hollow. And one day, she threw herself in the rapids."

Bard's heart sunk in his chest. So Óin's child had ended her own life too. He now understood better why he was spending so much of his precious time with the Elleth. "I am sorry to hear it."

"Oh, it all happened long ago. 170 years or so ago." Bifur chuckled again, as if the whole thing was not grave at all. "But your Elf maid reminds him of her. And of our Prince." At that the pain showed a bit, for the loss was still fresh.

Bard did not answer for a while, then an idea grew in his mind. "Why don't you and your companions come for a meal one day? The remaining Company? It'd cheer us all up, I'm sure!"

Bifur smiled. "Those kids of yours certainly know how to put a smile on a man's face!" He laughed and nodded. "I'll convey the invite. Thank you, Bard."

"You're most welcome, Bifur."

They clasped each other's shoulders, and went back to their work.

* * *

Tauriel was confused. She was confused because in her hands, she was holding something which function she had no idea of.

Tilda was standing in front of her, beaming, and still, Tauriel's brow furrowed. "What is that, youngling?" she asked. Her voice had grown stronger these past few weeks, but it didn't change her confusion.

Tilda jumped onto the bed, placing her slender feet under herself as she laughed. "Have you truly never seen a pen before?"

Tauriel eyed the thin object again. It was made out of wood, that was clear enough, with a cut out end in metal that was shaped almost like a triangle. No, she had never seen one of those before.

"What's it for?"

"Writing, of course!" Tilda snatched it out of her hands and went to the small desk in the corner of the room, choosing one sheet of paper out of the untidied pile left by her father. "Look!" she put the 'pen' into a small ink-bottle, and started tracing letters onto the paper.

Tauriel had asked for something to write on because she had wished to send her best wishes to Legolas. She missed her dear friend and did not know where he was or when they'd see each other again. The longing had made her voice her request, and of course, Tilda had complied without so much as a question.

"I see," she said with a small smile. "In Greenwood we used bird feathers as quills."

Tilda's brow furrowed. "I thought you Elves did not kill animals?"

Tauriel smiled again, but this time it was almost sad. "We do, when we have to. When the animal is in pain, or gravely ill. We do not like them suffering. But no: we waited for the feathers to fall. Birds shed, you know." Her green eyes took in a shade of fondness as she recalled. "My friends and I would sometimes venture into the forest to gather them, and those of us who had the best-looking ones would bring them to the King."

Tilda's smile returned, wider than ever. "My Da's a King! Do you think we can go gather feathers and give them to him?"

Tauriel was surprised at this turn of event, but a stern voice from the doorway stopped her from answering. "There aren't enough birds in Dale yet, Tilda. Now, give me that pen."

The Elleth met Sigrid's gaze and she understood at once. The pen's sharp edge could have enticed her to try again. To plunge the small metal blade into her flesh and to weep blood until she was no more. It was tempting, she conceded, but not as much as it had once been.

She did not complain when the writing utensil was back in the young woman's hand, but smiled at her nonetheless. "Would you wish for me to teach you how to write in Elvish? I'd like to write to my good friends and you could learn…while…surveying."

Sigrid's eyes widened, and Tauriel knew why.

Suddenly her voice had taken on a somehow mischievous tone, as if she had been trying sarcasm. It surprised all in attendance, including herself, but she thought it a good sign.

Maybe Bard had been right. Maybe there was something more to life than she had thought.

Sigrid nodded at last, and said "I'd love that" before taking Tilda by the hand and going back downstairs. Tauriel stood, and followed.

* * *

 _A/N2: So, Tauriel is healing slowly. Next chapter we'll see just how much healing is also about the people around you. See you then! :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hey there! I left you all alone last week, I'm so sorry! I've been working on my plans for next school term (ah the joys of being a teacher) and it took quite some time. Anyhow, here come two more chapters for you guys! :)_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6**_

* * *

Bard found them in the study, all four of them staring intently at a piece of paper. Bain was holding what looked like his old pen, and Tauriel was gesturing to something on the paper, Tilda perched on her lap.

"Your vowels are correctly shaped, but look: here, there is almost no difference between your 'r' and your 'h'. Let me show you again."

"No, let me," Sigrid said with a hint of authority in her voice. Bard thought she was chastising the Elleth, but when said woman smiled and chuckled – chuckled! – a bit, he was stunned into silence.

"It is true that your calligraphy is even more beautiful than mine, Sigrid! We'll make a good ambassador of you yet!"

Sigrid, whose profile he could see, smirked. "I am a Princess, after all."

"Indeed you are. _Your Highness._ "

Bard had not heard her speak like this. Not since he and Bain had found her in the Lake. Not even before, he had to admit, since he had not met her properly before that day. But now, the improvement in her character and in her mood was obvious: she was joking! Tauriel was joking, a hint of irony and mockery laced in her words, and it felt foreign to him who had only known her to be sad, silent, and apathetic.

"Da!" Tilda, who had noticed him, flew off Tauriel's lap and came to grab him by the hand. "Come and see, Tauriel is teaching us how to write in Elvish!" She pulled him to the table, and he met the woman's green eyes. She was startled, he realised with a pang in his chest. He hated that he had caught her unawares.

He glanced at the paper next. On top of it was a line of symbol, curved and beautiful, which he guessed was the Elvish alphabet. Under it, several other lines, obviously by different hands. The curves were less enticing, and made him almost smile. "Impressive."

"Look at mine," Sigrid said with that same tone. He arched a brow at her and she answered with a mischievous smile of her own.

It was true that her own line of letters was curved to perfection, covering the parchment in an almost artistic way. But then again, she had always been fond of drawing. "I will agree that it is quite well done." He ruffled her hair and enjoyed the cross look on her face before she set her bun back correctly. "Thank you," he added towards Tauriel, and she bowed the head.

 _Silent again_ , he thought. It was a shame, for he'd have liked to hear the laughter in her voice again. It had sounded like the chiming of bells in the wind, and the sound had been most soothing.

"I wanted to tell you that the Dwarves are coming to dinner tomorrow eve." He directed his gaze towards Sigrid. "There'll be all ten of them." She was about to protest but he raised a hand. "Bombur and Bofur have offered to come and help with the cooking. They'll be here at eleven in the morning."

Sigrid pursed her lips but nodded. At least she didn't have to cook for an army all on her own.

Bard bowed the head at Tauriel again, and left the four continue with their writing lesson. He had intruded enough for a day.

* * *

Tauriel was puzzled. She had no idea why she had acted as she had done when Bard arrived during her time with his children. She had had no reason to feel on edge, and yet, his presence in the room had made her sit stiffly, as if she had expected him to attack her in any way.

Truth be told, the Man puzzled her. With his kindness towards strangers, with his strange words concerning life and what it had to offer. With his grey eyes that seemingly bore into her soul when he stared at her.

Tauriel could see that he was handsome, for someone his race. But she was not attracted to him in that way. He was too tall, too dark… And even then, considering her only 'type' of man had been a dark-haired Dwarf, she surely couldn't judge his appearance in an objective way.

No, she was not attracted to Bard as a young girl waiting for her first kiss. But he intrigued her. Because his behaviour was not that of the brutal people her King had described, and because sometimes, sometimes, she felt at home in _his_ home. And she wasn't sure she liked the idea that much.

* * *

The day the Dwarves were invited to dine, Tauriel found Sigrid already running about the kitchen very early in the morning. She had come down to see if she could help, but the young woman was muttering nonsense, most probably complaining about the amount of work she'd have to do.

"Do you require any help, youngling?" she asked, and Sigrid whirled around, her blue eyes ablaze with fury, although not directed at the Elleth, she realised.

"Of course I need help, but you are apparently the only one to notice!" She took a deep breath and braced herself on the table. "Thank you for asking. Would you mind helping me peel the potatoes? I know those little buggers cannot live without them and there are far too many of them for me to do all alone…"

She pointed to an impressive pile of roots, and Tauriel smiled. "That is quite a number indeed." She pushed up the sleeves of her grey tunic – one she had been wearing ever since arriving in Dale – and moved to the basin of water to wash her hands. "Give me something to peel them with and I'll start right away."

Sigrid patted her arm in a friendly manner, and both started working the day away in pleasant company.

* * *

When Bard entered the kitchen later that day, two Dwarves and a huge cauldron filled with food in tow, he was surprised to hear singing. Well, humming, more like. Sigrid was singing, while Tauriel was humming the tune. He recognized it: it was an old rhyme from Esgaroth. He didn't know when his daughter had taught it to the Elleth, but he was glad to hear her so at peace that she'd indulge in some music.

"Tauriel!" Bard winced at the enthusiastic shout. Bofur had launched himself inside, startling both women. The Elleth gingerly caught the knife she had been using to cut carrots with, and turned to the Dwarf with her hands on her hips.

"And is it a manner to greet an old friend, uh? You scared me to death!"

 _She looked human, like this_ , Bard mused. Her hair was held back as it always was, but hid her pointy ears from view. Without them in show, and with the angry tone in her voice – one that matched Sigrid's to perfection – she looked every each the daughter of Men. It made him swallow visibly.

Bofur laughed. "Obviously not!" She shook her head but smiled at him, before turning her green gaze to Bard and his second companion.

"I supposed this is the brother I heard so much about, then?" She paced to where Bombur stood awkwardly next to Bard. He watched her carefully, taking in the assured step, the regal stance, and the overall goodness that oozed from her.

Tauriel was on the mend, there was no denying it. And it pleased Bard as much as it pained him. For when she had no longer use for their help, she'd surely leave. And it made him extremely sad to think so.

When the Elleth had greeted both Dwarves and Sigrid had directed them to a spot on the table for them to work, Tauriel and himself were shooed out of the room, and found themselves alone in the corridor leading to the study.

Bard stared at her, perhaps a little too intensely, for she seemed uncomfortable. Until he said "I wanted to give something back to you," and he led her to the small room that should have been a library once upon a time.

Tauriel assessed the room and what it contained: a cot, a chest, and a desk stacked with even more papers than in his own room.

She quickly seemed to understand what it meant. "Have you been sleeping here since-" she didn't finish, her words visibly getting caught in her throat.

He nodded. "It's not half as bad as what I'm used to, do not worry. In Laketown, I was used to sharing the bed with three growing children." He smiled, trying to defuse the situation, but Tauriel's green eyes were suddenly ablaze.

"I will move down here. You'll have your room back. If I had known, I'd have done it long ago." He wanted to respond, to deny, but she looked fierce and caught his meaning without him having to speak. "I will not suffer any refusal, Bard the Bowman. I am but a guest here, and I certainly do not deserve to remain in your room when you sleep," she gestured to the small space, "here."

He smiled. "I thank you. We shall discuss this later. For now," he turned to the chest and opened it, producing several items that he settled on the bed for her to see. He noticed she was instantly at a loss for words.

On the bed, he had set her dark green tunic and breeches, her brown corset and green overcoat, along with her golden arm-braces. But more than anything, there was her bow, and her empty quiver.

Tauriel walked to the bed and took the latter in her slender hands, tracing the symbols with her fingers. Her eyes were misty, but she did not shed a single tear. She kept staring at the items, something difficult to name passing in her gaze. Was it grief? Nostalgia? Happiness? Maybe a mix of all three.

At length she turned to face him and placed her hand on her heart. "Thank you. I thought them lost." She clutched at her quiver even more. "They are gifts from my King. From…from Legolas."

Bard nodded. He had met the King and Prince of Mirkwood, he knew who they were and he knew the Elf cared for Tauriel. Perhaps not like a brother to his sister, but more than like a friend. "You are welcome."

"May I?" she gestured to the clothes as if asking for permission to take them.

Bard smiled in amusement. "They are yours, Tauriel." Their eyes met when he said her name, and he had to clear his throat and leave the room before it became too difficult to breathe.

He had no idea why he had suddenly felt like leaving was the best course of action, and he certainly had no idea why the Elleth affected him so, but he was not entirely prepared to face the obvious. Not yet, at any rate.

For now, he'd check on his daughter and her insufferable helpers, and he'd focus on a merry gathering.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7**_

* * *

On the morning of the 23rd November, Bard was content. More than he had been in a long time.

He was staring at a newly-refurbished market-place, entirely roofed, the symbol of a thriving New-Dale. It had been finished the day before, the last drop of paint having dried during the night. People were already gathering to see it, excited as he was, perhaps even more so.

He was proud. The people of Laketown had worked hand-in-hand with the Dwarves of Erebor to rebuild their city, and there it was, proudly standing, and starting a new life.

"It's good to see this," came a quiet voice next to him, and Bard reached with an arm to clutch Percy's own. His old friend had tears in his eyes. He had been in the trade all his life, and such a symbol of rebirth for commerce was moving him more than he was able to say. Bard could tell.

"We all did this," he said proudly. "This is ours and ours alone. We should celebrate."

Percy chuckled. "I'll celebrate when I've been given the best spot inside!" Bard mirrored his laughter. "When are we to work on the palace, then, Your Majesty?"

Bard winced. He hated hearing his old friends and comrades call him that, but after all, he had been elected King of Dale not long after the Battle took place. He had to take responsibility, and unfortunately, it came with a palace and not a house. "I was hoping to stall that a little."

"Ah, but I don't think your colleague in that blasted Mountain will agree with you on that!" Percy patted his shoulder and left, leaving Bard to his thoughts.

It was time indeed. He and his children had been comfortable these past months, but the house they had chosen was not fit for governing. He had to tell them to expect a move soon. If he knew his Dwarves half as well as he thought he did, they were already cutting timbers and building staircases.

He sighed, and then heard the local town crier as he made his way towards the main square. "Gathering on the plains, gathering on the plains for the anniversary of the Battle! Envoys from Greenwood and the Iron Hills are expected! Gathering at noon, gathering at noon on the plains!"

Bard's blood froze in his veins. The anniversary of the Battle.

In his contentment he had totally forgotten the date. But truth be told, a year ago, he had not really been focused on the calendar. More on survival. And now he had to accept the truth: one year had already passed since that fateful day.

He cursed, and hurried home to fetch the children. As King, he could not possibly miss the gathering.

* * *

One year. Twelve months. 365 days. Who knew how many minutes, seconds. _One year._

Tauriel sat on her bed – which had, to her discontent, remained Bard's despite their conversation several weeks prior – eyes glazing and staring at the bow in her hands.

It had been one year since she had last seen Kíli alive. Since she had last seen his dark eyes settled on hers lovingly. Since he had last drawn breath.

The pain was excruciating. Even more so than a year before, when she had been willing to end her own life. Because now she did not, and it made things even worse. Now she did not want to die, no, she wanted to live, wanted to carry on waking in the morning to learn things from Sigrid, to talk to Bain, to teach Tilda the customs of her people.

To see Bard.

Her heart clenched in her chest painfully. She was betraying the memory of her beloved Prince, and it hurt. One year only after he had died, she was living in another man's house, and was unwilling to leave no matter how able she was to.

She had no more use for the Man's family's help, and yet she stayed. Because she cared for them. And she had no right to.

She let out a sob, and put the bow down on the bed. She stood, and took a decision. She needed out of the house. _Now._ For long and long hours.

Sigrid and her siblings had gone to the city to some kind of gathering, or so their father had said. She had declined the invitation, not willing to be back on these accursed plains that had seen so much pain. So she got down the stairs and quickly got out of the house, letting her feet lead her to the closest stables.

In the past months, she had been in town several times. Always accompanied, mostly by the children, rarely by the Dwarves – though Bofur had insisted once on showing her the best pub in Dale, which she had hated. She knew the streets close to 'home', and people knew to expect her, clad in her green tunic and brown corset as if ready for war.

Ever since Bard had given her her belongings back, she had been wearing nothing else. She had been used to them for centuries, and there was no way she was going to forsake them again.

She reached the stables which were, unsurprisingly, emptied of any stable-lad. Her lips curled up a notch, a poor attempt at making the horses feel her harmless nature, and she started whispering in her mother tongue, coaxing the beasts to accept to carry her to her destination.

One beautiful bay approached her and nuzzled her with his nose, which she caressed tenderly. "Thank you, my friend," she said before mounting the creature. She needed no saddle, no reins, for the Elvish tongue was enough to ask for directions.

She started into the day, letting her companion lead her to where her heart desired.

* * *

The gathering had been emotional, to say the least. There had been a beautiful speech from King Dain, and a song from the Elves – which had made many a Dwarf cringe – and Dale's governor reminded the people in attendance of the lives they had lost. By saying each and every name. For all three races.

Bard, as King of Dale, should have been, probably, expected to say something. But his work in the city had been more important, and anyway, the governor held more official power than him until he was in office. He was glad for the fact. Besides, the man was an old acquaintance, and was a good person.

The kids had cried, Tilda more so than her elders, but all three had needed a hug on the way home.

"Do you think Tauriel is alright?" she asked as they reached their door.

Something akin to dread settled in Bard's stomach. "I do not know, my love." He remembered the look in her eyes when he had announced the date and its significance. The grief, the pain, the guilt also. He doubted she _would_ be alright, but he knew his children would do whatever they could to make her feel better.

As it happens, the house was empty. No trace of the Elleth could be found, except for her weapon of choice, left on the bed as a message that she had not fled forever.

"Where is she?" Sigrid said with alarm. She too, he knew, was thinking of the worst.

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She surely needed air, Sigrid, no need to worry." But he was worried as well, more than he could say. If anything happened to Tauriel, he'd be devastated. Perhaps even more than his own children.

He thought quickly, wondering where she could have gone without her beloved bow. She could not have come to the gathering, he was sure of it. Firstly, because it would have hurt her too much; secondly, because he was certain it'd have birthed quite the commotion, either in the Dwarves' ranks or in the Elves', since the latter's King had banished her forever.

Then he understood. He looked down at his daughter and said "I know where she is" before stooping down to kiss her forehead and hurrying out.

 _The Lake._

It had to be.

* * *

Tauriel stared at the calm waters and cried. She cried and cried and cried until there was no tear left in her to shed.

She had reached the Lake without issue, and had been glad, if that was possible, to see that its shores had been mostly emptied of all remnants of the war. There were still the odd piece of wood here and there, but no body, no charred piece of cloth to remind her of the night the Dragon had come down on Laketown.

As it were, the Lake was peaceful. As if it was reminiscing the year past as well as her. She had left the gentle beast that had carried her there to gently nib on the green grass while she climbed the hill, and there she had stopped.

In the shadow of a tree, free to receive the bite of the early winter's wind, Tauriel stood, and then sat, her feet and hands digging in the welcoming earth as she wept. From time to time a gentle breeze would dry her tears, but she was still sad.

One year prior her life had been turned upside down. Perhaps for the best, who knew, but certainly, at the time, for the worst. That day, she had lost a love, that she would never forget; but she had also lost a home. Her people. The man she called King and thought Father. The man she loved like a Brother and whom she'd surely never see again.

It hurt more than anything else, perhaps, this feeling of having lost everything. She was no longer Captain of Thranduil's Guard. She was no longer a Sylvan Elf from Greenwood. She was no longer…Tauriel. Her name in itself, "daughter of the forest", was by then a lie.

She screamed to the skies, wishing it to explain why she had to suffer so much and to lose so much of herself, but the sky never answered, leaving her in the sorrow she bathed in, until once again the breeze calmed her down.

She had been sitting there crying for perhaps one or two hours when the hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she became aware that she was no longer alone.

She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked in a small voice that carried in the wind.

"Not long," he answered, and his tall figure came to stand by her, dwarfing her in his shadow. Bard had that effect, making her feel small even if she was an Elf and by no means little. "I knew I'd find you here."

"And you came to make sure I did not repeat past errors."

"No." The calm in his voice made her look up. He was staring at the Lake, something in his grey eyes that showed that he too was still grieving the times past. On the horizon, Tauriel could see the outline of what remained of Esgaroth, but she knew he could not see, not with his human eyes.

"Then what, Bard of Dale?" There was an edge in her voice, something almost cheeky, that surprised both. She had never used that voice with him before, always displaying it with his children instead. It puzzled them both.

"I came to bring you home. When you are ready."

'Home'. The word was so simple, and yet, in regards to her previous thoughts, it was also…foreign. Tauriel pondered the word for a few moments before realising that yes, Bard's home was hers as well. In her heart she knew it to be true.

"Sit with me," she asked simply, and he did so. His presence at her side was not disturbing, and if the tears began to fall again after a time, he did not comment on them. They sat there, remembering a time when all had seemed to easy. A time long gone.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hello everyone! Another late chapter, I'm sorry. I started teaching again and it took a bit more of my time than I expected. Anyway, here comes, and we are now close to the end of this fic. Hope you enjoy the sweetest side of it._

 _And to the reader who gently compared this to a high-school romance fic, I say this: "You have NO IDEA, pal. Wait 'til Sharon and Brendan are coming into this and wreck Tauriel's prom dress. It's gonna be savage!"_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8**_

* * *

"Da! Come, they say it's ready!"

Bard stood from the kitchen table, joining Bain who was jumping up and down at the entrance of the small house. There was a cart haltered there, filled with his and his children's belongings, and Tauriel was smiling at the boy as she checked the last of the chords assuring the furniture. "What is, young man?"

"The house, Da! Come on, now!"

He smiled to himself and at Tauriel, whose own smile faltered a second before coming back brighter than ever. He turned to the small building that had been his and his children home for near two years, and called for his girls.

Sigrid came out almost immediately, turning to assess the house once last time, a tired sigh leaving her lips before she climbed onto the cart's bench. Tauriel patted the young woman's knee, and they exchanged a knowing look.

Tilda, on the other hand, took her time, running through every room to check they hadn't forgotten anything when she already knew for sure that nothing was missing. Bard had to call her a second time before she deigned come out, jumping onto the bench and almost toppling her sister over.

"Are you all settled?" Bard asked, amused. His kids all nodded, and he patted Bain's shoulder as the boy took the last spot on the cart and clicked his tongue for the horse to start moving.

Bard remained there, Tauriel standing not far, but he was not saying goodbye to the house, no, that was material property. He was looking at his children, and was realising how much they had grown.

* * *

Sigrid was by then seventeen years of age. She was the spitting image of her mother: gentle, but also stern and severe when the time called for it.

Bain, at fifteen, had gained yet another couple of inches, and there was no doubt he'd end up taller than his father. There was a dusting of blonde hair on his chin and he had asked his sister to cut his hair short, and by the Valar he looked like a man…

As for Tilda, she had also gained a few inches, and retained the roundness of her face even if, now that she was ten, she was also gaining more feminine features. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, her eyes stood out more, and Bard knew he'd soon have a hard time fending off her future numerous suitors.

"They are growing up so fast…"

Bard's eyes snapped to Tauriel, who was watching the children retreat in the same fashion as he was, nostalgia painted all over her beautiful face.

Her green eyes met his and she added a small sad smile. "I'd never before realised how quickly you humans age." In any other circumstances, Bard would have taken that for an insult. But in Tauriel's eyes, he saw only sadness that one day, she'd be there, standing over his kids' coffins.

Without thinking, he reached for her hand. Once their skins touched, she gasped almost, and her cheeks reddened. Bard regarded this with curiosity and no small amount of pride, but he had to admit that touching the Elleth was making him feel like blushing as well.

Over time, he and Tauriel had grown more accustomed to each other. They often found themselves alone in the evening, talking about things that held little importance. He knew she liked to sip tea that had a good spoonful of honey in it. He also knew she preferred winter to summer, because the stars were more visible. And he could never forget the day she learnt how to play Bifur's fiddle.

But they had never properly touched before. And that was perhaps another reason why Tauriel's presence put him on edge.

"We should…we should follow them," he finally said, releasing her slender fingers as he did. She slowly nodded, the blush remaining until they were very close to their new home.

* * *

Tauriel didn't know why she had reacted in such a way. Why her body had decided that a man she had been living alongside to for more than a year and a half could not touch her without eliciting some sort of stupid reaction.

She felt childish. But strangely, some part of her was whispering in a very tiny voice that it was bound to happen.

And in truth, it _was_ bound to happen.

Tauriel had not needed any of Bard's help since the third week she had been in his family's care. Ever since that time, she could have left into the wild and never come back to Dale again. She could have travelled, maybe to Loríen, to meet with her Southern kin and make herself a home there.

And yet, she had stayed. She had stayed and had made somewhat of a nest in a house that was already occupied by a family that hadn't needed her either at the time. And she had grown to love each and every member of that family, to the point where she considered herself part of it. Selfishly so.

She had not spoken her mother tongue in more than a year either, expect the rare oddity of when she found herself talking to horses or muttering to herself. And some bizarre part of her liked the harsh sounds of Westron, and especially the lilt in Dale's citizens' voices when they spoke it. Something singing, something old and to be cherished. She loved the way they sometimes rolled their "r"s, and the way they cursed.

And she loved all of that in Bard.

The blush rose to her cheeks again, following her trail of thoughts. Why on Earth did she find herself infatuated with a Man? Something was very wrong with her…

And yet, as she watched him help his daughters off the cart, and as he draped an arm around Bain's shoulders, all four staring at the huge building that was now their home, she found her heart leaping at the sight.

She could not leave them now. She doubted she ever could.

But they would leave her eventually. All faded into darkness after time, even more so in the human world. She had had a painful reminder of that earlier that day.

* * *

"Tauriel, are you not coming?" She raised her head and smiled at Sigrid, who was extending a hand towards her. She nodded and took the offered hand, if only for a second.

Tilda then flew from behind them and inside, with a screech that awfully resembled "I get first pick at a room!" and that made everyone in attendance laugh.

She met the grey eyes of the patriarch and the way those eyes seemed to have a smile of their own before she released Sigrid and let the family discover their home.

She had settled the few of her belongings into the upmost bedroom, on the third floor of the huge house. Or palace, as it apparently was to be called. She had two windows, both of which gave onto the city square below and onto the Mountain on the horizon.

She didn't possess many things, not even after a year of being offered trinkets upon trinkets by the children. She placed the couple of books she owned – one of which was in Elvish and was a prized possession – onto a shelf, and smiled when she put a frame of a drawing Sigrid had made of her next to it. Her bow and quiver were both placed next to the door, and she eyed the room with a critical eye.

Back in Greenwood, her own quarters had been half the size of her current housing. She had had a single cot, a small one at that, a chair, and a wardrobe for her different outfits. And that had been all. Everything she had now seemed like a luxury to her.

And yet…

* * *

"I think it needs a personal touch, don't you?"

Tauriel whirled around, her green eyes widening when she saw Bard standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe. He was smiling, eyes dancing around the room as he took it in.

She sighed. "I wouldn't dare touch it. It's not really mine after all."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said in a strangely severe tone that made her meet his gaze. "You are part of this family now, whether you like it or not. And even if one day we may lose you, this room will remain yours forever."

His words moved her more than she could say, and she imagined he could tell by the way she looked away. They remained silent for a moment, before Tilda erupted into the room, almost making her father fall in her impatience.

"Tauriel, Tauriel, you must come and see my room! It's so big I can have two wardrobes in it!" The Elleth smiled at the young girl's enthusiasm, as did Bard, and then Tilda realised something. "I don't like the colours on these walls. We need to pain them."

"Maybe we can pain something that looks like a forest, and Elvish phrases on it, can't we Da? It'll make Tauriel feel more at home…"

Sigrid, who had followed her younger sister up, had wrapped her arm around Tauriel's waist, and soon, they were all joined by Bain who sat on the bed and declared he'd practice his alphabet just for this purpose.

Tauriel's heart swelled in her chest. She had found her family. And even if one day she'd have to let it go, just for now, she was willing to enjoy and love it.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hi there! This is almost the end for this story, as this is the second-to-last chapter. I hope you enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading!_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 9**_

* * *

Exactly two days after the family moved into "the palace", as it was now called, the Governor of Dale paid a visit to his monarch and announced that his official crowning would take place a week hence.

All of Dale changed its pace at the announcement. The most immediate change in Tauriel's life was that the house was now assaulted with various people that she had to call "servants" even though she knew all of them by name. There were some affected to the kitchens; some to opening doors – as stupid as it sounds; some to cleaning every surface visible; and some to help the family and herself get dressed in the mornings and undressed in the evenings.

Obviously, none of that was taken too kindly by Bard and his simply-raised children. They all refused any help when they rose or went to bed; helped the cook and cleaners; and sent everyone home early enough that it felt like no one was working at all.

Some of the "servants" had moved into the "palace", for a whole wing was reserved for that purpose. Most of those were joining Bard and the kids for supper, and more often than not, a game or two.

Bain said one time that his only regret at having a big extended family was that they were not allowed Dwarves as "domestics". He was particularly fond of the members of the Company they had once housed.

Said Company was seen often during the day, either in the kitchens where Bombur regaled all with his cooking techniques; or in the numerous official rooms where they loudly commented on the ugliness of paintings.

* * *

One member of that same Company was currently standing in front of her, sheepishly looking up at her while she pondered whether or not she needed to ask him what he was doing there. Sigrid's appearance, though, made that need unnecessary.

"Ah, there you are Tauriel! Dori offered to accompany us to the seamstress today, I hope you don't mind?"

" _Us?_ " the Elleth asked. She did not remember asking for any more clothes recently. She had enough with the half-dozen tunics she and Tilda had sown over the year. True, her boots needed mending, but her clothes?

"Yes, for the feast!" The young woman smirked at her, something far too amused in her eyes. "You did not intend to turn up dressed as you are every day for such an event, did you?"

Dori giggled. Properly giggled. Tauriel looked down at the Dwarf in surprise, but Sigrid was not done with her yet.

"So of course I thought that we could go together, since Tilda and Bain have already had their fitting, and I wanted something more…well, more. Da agreed. And I don't want you to dance with him with those ugly boots of yours!"

Tauriel made to gasp in fake offense, but Dori had already taken her arm and Sigrid's, making him their pocket-sized escort for the day. She decided that laughing was a better option, something she knew she was going to bitterly regret later on.

* * *

She did regret it, but less than she would have expected. Sigrid was very thoughtful, for she asked the seamstresses for an original piece that would allow Tauriel to retain her usual look. No dress for her, rather a new pair of breeches and a long tunic, shorter on the front than on the back, with a fitting corsage that was still very modest with her anatomy.

Dori had been asked to choose the details. The colour would be unwavering – blue, the colour of royalty – but those he could play with. For Sigrid, he asked a dusting of gold-embroidered stars on the hem of her dress, and an intricate play of volutes on her corsage. The coat of arms of Dale would shine brightly at her throat. For Tauriel, the same symbol would compete on the right side of her corsage with a brooch representing Greenwood. It would make the whole thing look like a cloak rather than like a long tunic-like dress.

When the seamstress had taken everything into consideration and shortened Tauriel's outfit until she was comfortable to move in it, Sigrid and Dori led her to a shoemaker, who kindly told her that boots she used to combat were not really proper in a ballroom. He tried making her wear slippers, but at the rare glare she directed at him, he preferred to give her a new pair of caramel-coloured boots, albeit smaller than her usual ones. They were also very supple, and she found herself wondering if she was wearing any shoes at all.

"You'll look stunning my dear!" Dori giggled as they went back home. "Not that you don't usually look stunning, but you get my meaning!"

Tauriel smiled. "Thank you, Master Dori."

"Now, girls," he said in a more conspirational way, "what are you going to do about your hair?"

Tauriel's look of horror made Sigrid laugh.

* * *

On the day of his coronation, Bard found himself extremely nervous. He really had no reason to be, since he had already been elected King almost two years prior. There was nothing to be feared of a crown being placed upon his brow and all the Lords around coming to pay their respects. There was also no fear to be felt over the fact that his children de facto became Prince and Princesses of Dale.

Or was there?

In truth, he was terrified. Terrified that he would not be able to make his people proud of the choice they had made. That he would not be able to rebuild a thriving Dale and an even-more thriving Esgaroth. That he would not be able to teach his son how to be a good King when he was gone.

He sighed once, twice, while eyeing his figure in the mirror. Talon, his "valet", seemed to understand his discomfort as he adjusted the length of his cloak. "It'll be alright, Bard, don't worry. No one really expects you to do anything."

"Except receiving a crown too heavy for my head…"

Talon chuckled. "The Dwarves said it'd weigh next to nothing. Come now, out with it." He tugged on the cloak once more and faced his monarch, although they were more like friends, to be honest.

Bard bit his lip, feeling like a child as he did, and muttered "I'm not sure I can do this."

Talon's blue eyes met his, and the older man looked severe, more so than he had ever done since they had been introduced. "Bard, you slayed a dragon. You lead an entire city of survivors to a safe place. You defended those walls with your blood. Literally. You are the most able man I know."

"He is right."

Bard longed to whirl around when he heard Tauriel's voice, but stopped himself just short of it. Talon tutted and placed him facing the mirror again, this time to check the chain adorning his chest-piece. He felt utterly stupid.

"You think so?" He was aware of the edge of desperation in his own voice, but the slender hand placing itself on his shoulder for the briefest of moments helped him relax a notch.

"I am certain. And your children are also."

He let himself swallow her words, then asked "Are they ready?"

She chuckled. "Bain said he was 'born ready' of course, until his sister told him he had put his shirt on upside-down. Tilda is getting her hair done, and Sigrid forbade me to enter her room until she was completely ready. I think she wants to surprise us."

Bard's heart swelled at the sound of 'us', and he wished he had the courage to take Tauriel's hand in his. He eyed Talon with an insistent glare, all that the man needed to know he had to hurry up. With a smirk, the 'valet' put his last flourish to his King's outfit, bowed, and left the room.

* * *

Bard turned around slowly, trying – and failing – to make this moment longer yet. His grey eyes widened upon seeing the utter beauty standing a few feet from him.

Tauriel was wearing caramel-coloured boots and breeches of the same tint, over which had been placed a cross between a tunic and a dress. The front reached the top of her knees while the back fell like a train down to her ankles. The small sleeves fell to her shoulders, revealing the pale skin there and a scar he had never seen before on top of her right arm. A corset of a darker shade of royal blue had been fastened around her chest, golden embroidery shining there as well as two brooches.

And her hair… Gods, her hair… It had been gathered up in an elegant bun, tendrils of her red hair falling to frame her face, and highlighting her delicately pointy ears.

She caught him staring, and a delicious blush rose to her cheeks. "You look beautiful," he breathed, and her blush deepened.

"Thank you. I suspect it was Sigrid's idea to make me look like a member of your family."

"That you are," he said simply, and she smiled brightly.

Who'd have guessed, after what they had been through two years prior, that today she'd be standing in front of him, lovely by all means, a woman he was dangerously close to being in love with? Even he wouldn't have.

* * *

Bard's crowning was simple and elegant. Just like him.

Tauriel stood in the first rank with his children, and smiled as a beautiful and thin crown of mithril was placed upon his brow. He said his vows, promising to protect his people at all cost and to never be unfair or cowardly.

The kids' crowning was much more emotional, she found. Especially when Bain vowed to take his father's place and to obey to the laws of Dale. Her hand found Sigrid's for a moment then, before the princess was called to the small stage to receive her own thin tiara.

Tauriel had to admit that the Dwarves had outdone themselves. Sigrid, wearing a stunning sleeveless dress that made her look every inch the woman she then was, was even more beautiful with the golden threat of leaves and gems placed on her head. The Elleth suspected she'd receive at least three marriage proposals that night.

Tilda was as excited as her siblings, and her crown, although still a bit big for her small head, made her look like a fairy-tale princess, one of those she had always wished to be.

"Are you alright?"

She looked aside at the newly-crowned King, who was regarding her with something akin to stars in his eyes. She wiped at a tear that was falling on her cheek and nodded. "It's just…I'm happy. For you. For them."

He smiled down at her with so much affection in his eyes that she looked away, her own heart swelling with it. She clutched at her corset, suddenly feeling like it had been fastened too tight, until the congratulations began.

All in attendance, small Lords, Generals and even ordinary people, all hurried to shake hands with their King. Some emissaries had been sent from the Mountain, and she was glad to see Balin there. She moved to meet him but was stopped by a person she did not know.

Their dark hair could have made them pass for any Lake-towner, but the outfit, with a sigil of a White Tree, was foreign to these parts.

"I wanted to congratulate the Lady of Dale in person," the man gave her a bow and a smile that looked neither poisonous nor flirtatious.

She raised a brow. "Lady of Dale?"

The man mirrored her expression. "Are you not King Bard's consort?"

Tauriel's embarrassment must have shown in her face, for the Man suddenly stuttered some sort of apology before walking away. A small hand snaked itself in hers and she looked down, mildly surprised to see Tilda fly to her defence as usual.

"You're our mother in all but name Tauriel. Don't worry about what they say."

The Elleth did not know what had broken her heart more. The word 'consort' or the word 'mother'. All she knew was that she needed air. Quickly.

* * *

Bard found her on the balcony of the first floor, the large area that belonged to his future office. He had been looking for her for quite a while by then. Tilda had mentioned her looking unwell but he had been unable to search for her until after the pledges.

He had patiently waited for all the Lords and Generals and what-nots to kneel in front of him and make their vows, when every particle in him wanted to go after the beautiful woman who had fled him once again.

She was hugging herself, but he knew she was not cold. It was a rather warm night for late October, and Elves were known for being impervious to the frost anyway.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a small voice as to not startle her.

She had obviously heard him arrive, for she did not move an inch. "Nothing."

"Tauriel, I've come to know you by then," he sighed as he stood beside her, staring at the horizon with her, "I know when you are troubled."

"It's just something…something Tilda said."

He nodded. "She told me. But it is true, you know." He gently pried one hand away from her arm, and held it tight. Her green eyes, rendered almost orange in the sunset, met his, and they were desperate. "You have been good to them. To us. They have come to love you as they'd do a mother. Even Sigrid."

She did not answer, but the question on her tongue was obvious. The words caught in his throat, although he knew them to be easy to say.

So instead, he slowly leant down, and placed a feather-light kiss on her cheek.

Tauriel's eyes closed, and when they opened again a moment later, they were filled with emotion.

He smiled at her, content to see her smile as well. "Now, would you care to dance with me, Tauriel, Lady of Dale?"


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hello people! This is me, back with the very last chapter of this emotional story. I poured far too much of myself in this, and I feel very sad leaving it behind... Although it is complete, so I should be happy too._

 _I thank each and every one of you who has read this, and the wonderful reader who left me one of the kindest reviews I've ever received. Hope you enjoy this last ride._

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** ** _I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10**_

* * *

Tauriel honestly didn't know how she had come to feel so happy. Nor if she truly deserved it.

Several weeks after Bard's crowning, she was there, living in a palace, taking care of official and unofficial business as if she was the queen, and no one questioned it. No one at all. Not even the Dwarves' emissaries, who bowed to her when she came to fetch a message at the door.

The respect these people showed her was even more puzzling that she did not know how she had gained it. Until of course she'd realise that the children had been spreading tales of their wonderful surrogate-mother – the word never failed to make her feel faint – and her achievements.

It was also rather surprising to see how Bard and herself had fallen into somewhat of a domestic pace without ever having voiced their feelings out loud or made any move other than the kiss he had placed on her cheek that fateful night. They sometimes linked their hands or sat very close to each other, but neither for too long.

That morning, she should by any means have felt horrible. She remembered the day as if it had been yesterday. Two years prior by then. And yet, the grief had settled in her heart and left behind it a pleasant glow of affection she knew was directed at Kíli. He had been her first love. She now had another one. Or rather, four other ones.

* * *

She was currently being steered in the third floor corridor by Tilda, her eyes blindfolded by Sigrid who was standing behind her. She could hear Bain's unrestrained chuckle and could feel Bard's presence in the hall as well.

A week prior, she had been asked by 'her' children to vacate her room for "remodelling". She had smelt the paint all the way down to the basement of the building, but that didn't mean she didn't like surprises.

"One, two, three, open!" She was suddenly free of Sigrid's hands, and her green eyes opened and widened at the same time.

A forest. Her room had been turned into a forest.

Ivy climbed onto the far off wall, stretching its leaves and branches over every inch of it and part of the ceiling. She could see some of the leaves had been painted gold, but that the plant was alive, a large pot of it having been placed into two corners.

The wall that housed the two windows had been painted as well in a beautiful trompe-l'oeil of trees, two of which prevailed on the others. Two trees, one with a single and simple trunk; the other with three branches climbing into the canopy of painted leaves. Names had been etched onto the painting. On the simple tree, her name; on the other tree, Bard's name and the children's on the three branches. Both trees merged into one at the top, and someone – she suspected Sigrid – had drawn the Elvish word for 'family' in golden letters.

She blindly reached for the hand of any member of that family, and felt Tilda's small fingers in hers. Sigrid's hand placed itself on her shoulder; Bain's arm went around her waist; and Bard claimed her other hand. She met his gaze, her eyes misty with tears. He smiled warmly and nodded.

This was her home.

She was home.

Truly.

* * *

"I wish to show you something," he had simply said, and she had followed. She had not asked why he was wearing his crown, or why two horses were waiting for them in front of the palace. One of these horses did not have a saddle and she smiled at his kind gesture.

He was glad she had not asked where they were going and merely trusted him. He did not know if he really would have known what words to use.

Tauriel remained effectively silent until they stopped at the Mountain Gate. Her green eyes sought his, and she raised a brow in a silent question.

He smiled. "We are expected."

They climbed the steep stairs, and he studied her stance. She had never been to the Mountain, he knew. He also knew she'd most probably feel claustrophobic in such a place, but they would not be there for long.

Kind Dain welcomed them as warmly as a prejudiced Dwarf could, and directed them to the mausoleum. Tauriel, not knowing where they were going, still was sending him questioning glances.

All of that stopped when they stepped into the huge cavernous room.

It was the size of a temple, in Bard's opinion. Statues loomed dangerously over the visitors, but Tauriel's eyes were glued to the three tomb-chests and effigies that were their only company.

She looked at him and again, there was a silent question in her then teary eyes.

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and she reached for it, gripping it tight. "I thought you'd like to say goodbye properly. Dain said you could come whenever you wished, so long as you were accompanied."

She took his other hand, squeezing it as tight as the other. "Thank you," she breathed, and they both moved to the farthest tomb, the effigy of her beloved Prince welcoming them there as if he was merely sleeping.

Bard had visited once before. In a way, he had been wondering if it'd be a good idea to bring Tauriel there, for closure. He had been impressed to see how much the stone looked like the Princes and their Uncle. Thorin's stern face looked at peace there, and he had found himself talking to the fallen King. They had not known each other long, but the Dwarf had made quite an impression.

Tauriel left one of his hands to trace Kíli's stony brow, and she let out a sob. She turned to look at him, and said simply "Hold me," to which he found himself taking her in his arms as she placed a shaking hand on the Prince's chest and wept.

She had needed this, he knew.

And he'd be there, holding her, until she did not wish him to anymore…

* * *

 _A/N2: And there it is my lovelies. Hope you liked that ending which was as sad and gentle as the rest. I'll see you soon enough with another Hobbit tale to tell, but until then, vanye sulie!_


End file.
